


The Interloper

by bujeetles (Oboeist3)



Category: Milo Murphy's Law
Genre: ADHD Dakota, Alternate Universe - High School, Autistic Cavendish, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-28 04:18:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18748879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oboeist3/pseuds/bujeetles
Summary: Friday used to be Balthazar Cavendish's favorite day to practice, at least, before the Interloper forced him to retreat into the percussion equipment room. Still, it might not be all bad. There is this cute theremin player.





	The Interloper

**Author's Note:**

> edit: podfic available here~ (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V72mYq4aTYA)

Balthazar Cavendish practiced every day, of course, but he’d always liked Fridays the best. Everyone else was in such a rush to go home, to jumpstart their weekends, that it left the band hall gloriously empty. It was just him, the piano, and the music he made with her. At least, it used to be that way, before the Interloper. 

The first time he heard the Interloper, creaking clarinet seeping out from practice room B, he’d thought it was a singular incident. Somebody preparing for that weekend’s solo and ensemble, given the apparent complexity of the piece. This turned out not to be so, as by the time he arrived the next Friday afternoon, the Interloper was already playing. 

That first month, Balthazar was able to tune it out without much issue, used to blocking out whatever the wind instruments were doing and focus on the director. It was a change, yes, but he was still mostly alone. He hadn’t even seen the player, let alone be bothered by them. It was less than ideal, but the band hall on Fridays was still his.

And then came the harmonica. 

It was harsh, it was loud, it was almost certainly out of tune, and he could hear something rattling inside even through the door. It was driving him utterly batty. It set his teeth on edge, and he found himself pushing the piano back into the percussion equipment room, which had awful sound quality, just so he didn’t have to be subjected to the torture. When a particularly discordant C# pierced the air, he slammed the door hard enough to make the walls shake. 

Balthazar kept himself in the equipment room after that. The cramped nature and poor sound quality were worth it for the peace. It frustrated him to lose his once solitary practice time, but the band hall wasn’t actually his. There wasn’t much that was, really. Hand-me-down clothes, half-used notebooks, books he checked out from the library so often that the paper slip was covered in his name.

Still, he wasn’t ungrateful about it. Things could have been worse, a lot worse, if they’d sent him to live with his father’s family in London, instead of his mother’s family in Danville. If he hadn’t wandered into Danny’s Music Shop and started poking at the keys of the grand piano, and the owner had smiled and taught him the C major scale instead of kicking him out. 

Danny was kind, and more generous than most. He spared time despite the success of Love Händel, and ‘accidentally’ ended up ordering duplicates of scores Balthazar wanted, insisted he take them off his hands, for his sake, please? Balthazar knew it was a lot of hot air, but nothing he said seemed likely to convince him to stop. Danny didn’t live in Danville anymore, he’d left three years ago, with a parting gift of Bach, Vivaldi, and Love Händel instrumentals. 

Balthazar stared at them now, three months after the appearance of the Interloper, and one and a half since he’d retreated to the percussion room. He didn’t play them that often, they were a comfort, an easy reprieve from the world of the technical. But today had been long: his math teacher had forced him to answer on the board, even though he’d told her that the sound of the chalkboard made his ears ache and his focus splinter. He’d stood there for five minutes before she sighed and ordered him back to his seat. Two periods later he was measuring friction coefficients and fell down the stairs. Even the teacher had laughed before anyone bothered to check he hadn’t broken his neck. Well, maybe that was melodramatic. His ankle still hurt though.

Slowly, like a man asking a woman to dance, his fingers moved over the keys, coaxing a tune. Most people knew ‘You Snuck Your Way Right Into My Heart’ but he preferred ‘The Ballad of Klimpaloon.’ It had more of a gravitas, a towering crescendo midway through that collapsed, like an avalanche, into  pianissimo . It had the feel of marching band music, but you couldn’t quite match that sort of intensity on a marimba. 

Just before that wonderful moment, the one he’d been carefully playing his way towards for twenty measures, the door slid open, fast and loud. His fingers stuttered, he lost his place, and that was the final straw, the last indignity he could stand. 

“What the bloody hell do you want?!” he demanded, turning his rage to the person in the doorway. He was wearing an orange shirt that was God-awfully bright, and too shiny athletic shorts. The only part that wasn’t an eyesore was his face, dark skin, darker sunglasses, the beginning of stubble on his chin and hair that radiated from his scalp like an explosion.

“You were in the middle of something, huh? Sorry.” he said, and he did have the decency to look sheepish. There was a twinge of guilt in Balthazar at it, but he refused to apologize. He’d already been driven out of the main hall, he wasn’t going to give up his current practice local. 

“What do you want?” he asked again, less hostile. 

“I was wondering if you had a theremin cord.” 

“A theremin cord.”

“Yep. It’s a cord, for the theremin? I think I left mine at home.” he said with a shrug. Balthazar blinked at him, once, twice. He had many questions.

“Why would you think I have one?”

“Err, I meant more like in this room? They keep the sound equipment with the percussion stuff, right?” he said, carefully shuffling forward.

“Some of it is in practice room E, but yes, the cords would be in here. In that box.”

“Ok cool. You can go back to playing if you want. Love Händel, yea? My mom is half in love with Bobby Fabulous.” he said, starting to rummage through the box, and those athletic shorts were...tight. Tighter than the dress code probably permitted. He looked away hurriedly.

“What does your father think of that?” he said, surprising himself. What did he care about the mysterious, if forgetful, theremin player? Was he really so desperate for human interaction?

“Um, well. I don’t have one.” Great. You’ve already managed to make an arse of yourself, Balthazar. That must be a new record.

“My apologies, for bringing up.”

“No, he’s not like dead or anything.” he said, and through he was still looking at the box, his hands had stopped moving. “I have two moms.” he said in a rush of air, like a trumpet at the end of a breathing drill, one long tone. Balthazar felt relieved. He hadn’t inadvertently stumbled into a family drama.

“That’s good to hear. That none of your parents are dead.” God lord, how awkward could he get! Still, it seemed to pacify, as the rummaging continued, the voice growing more confident.

“Yea man, they’re the best. I guess a lot of teens don’t get along with their parents, but my moms are really understanding. Super supportive. A little bit embarrassing, but hey, that’s family. What about you?” he said, as he wielded his found cord in triumph, flush with excitement and looking directly at Balthazar.

“W-What about me?”

“What are your folks like? Love Händel fans?”

“No, not really. My aunt is indifferent, as far as music goes.”

“You and your aunt. That’s cool, very Spider-Man, pew, pew. Er, thwip thwip?” The theremin player shrugged helplessly. “I’m going to go back to practicing now. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to put the cord back once I’m done.” he promised, shuffling out the door with great haste. 

* * *

 

On Monday, the theremin player was standing outside the band hall after his actual class, surprising Balthazar. He felt like he would have noticed him in the Fine Arts section earlier if he had a class around here. 

“It’s Vinnie. My name. My name’s Vinnie Dakota. I got home and realized I had a whole conversation and didn’t tell you. Sorry.”

“That’s quite alright.” he said, his heart hammering in his chest at the sight of him,  dark jeans, floral shirt, high boots, a dark edge around his eye that might be eyeshadow. He chided himself. Now was not the time to be gay, he had to make a good introductory impression! He’d already ruined his first one. “I’m Balthazar Cavendish.”

“Course I knew that.” Vinnie snorted a laugh.

“Have we met before?”

“Nah, you’re regionally famous. Your marimba solo in the marching show def helped earn the ones at UIL, not to mention the spring concert last year. You’re going places, I bet.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Don’t sweat it. You have lunch next, right? So do I. We could sit together, if you wanted.” Vinnie murmured this last part very quietly, like he was nervous. It was a bit puzzling, because Balthazar was no Eugene Brick.

“Erm, well, I would be delighted to, only...I don’t usually eat in the cafeteria.” he said with some embarrassment. Balthazar found the cafeteria like passing period but worse, all the shouting, banging, layered over and over each other, never with enough consistency to fade into the background.

“Yea, I get it. The place is like the zoo, only not fun. Meltdown city in there.” Balthazar scowled, shoved a finger towards his chest in accusation.

“Are you making fun of me?” Vinnie looked surprised and vaguely stricken.

“What? No! _I_ used to have them, before I got some noise-canceling headphones. I have ADHD, man.”

“Oh.” Of course Vinnie hadn’t been making fun of him, he’d been nothing but kind from the start. Balthazar felt awful for doubting him so. 

“Aw, don’t look so sad, dude. I get it, people are jerks about this stuff. Come on, you show me your lunch sanctuary and we’ll call it even.” he said, slinging his arm over Balthazar’s shoulder, which is not quite as awkward as it could be, seeing as he was a good ten centimeters taller. It still brought them close enough together to turn Balthazar pink, though. 

His ‘sanctuary’ as Vinnie had declared it, was one of the offices hooked to the orchestra room. It used to connect to the band hall as well, but the door got jammed and no one wanted to spend the money to fix it when funds were already so tight. Over the last year it became the home of all the things that were slightly broken, and therefore not worth throwing out, but also not quite worth the effort of fixing. Mostly chairs that were dangerously wobbly and music stands that were so crooked they dumped sheet music onto the floor. Balthazar wasn’t much for philosophizing, but his presence there felt appropriate, sometimes.

“Woah, this place feels like the beginning of an 80’s movie.” Vinnie said, hopping on the teacher’s desk, the only level surface in the place, and pulling a half-crumpled sandwich from his backpack. “The kind where everyone ends up dancing on a table, telling each other deep and profound secrets, making out, all that jazz.”

“I don’t think anything that exciting will happen.” Balthazar said, trying to ignore the way his heart had jumped when Vinnie talked about making out.

“Eh, I’ll worm some secrets out of you, Balthy.” Vinnie said with a wink, munching on his sandwich. It disappeared at quite an alarming rate, and was replaced with a bag of chips.

“Balthy?”

“Balthazar’s a mouthful. ‘Sides cute people deserve nicknames.” he said, like it was some sort of obvious fact.

“You do enjoy a good joke, don’t you, Vincent?” Balthazar mused, sitting next to him on the desk and retrieving his own lunch. Rice and chicken and three hateful sprigs of broccoli tucked in the corner of the Tupperware.

“Vincent?”

“Well your name is already a nickname. It makes sense that your nickname should be an actual one.”

“Can’t argue with that logic.” 

The conversation lulled as they ate, but the quiet was surprisingly pleasant. Vinnie would occasionally hum a bar or two from a song, and his feet would tap on the edge of the desk, triplets he felt more than heard. It was nice. 

When the bell rang, they both startled, lost in a world way beyond school, and Vinnie chuckled, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. 

“That’s our cue to rejoin the pubescent drones. See you at lunch tomorrow?” Vinnie asked, hopefully. 

“I’d like that very much.” he said, and the grin was like sunshine itself. 

* * *

They had lunch together every day that week, and the week after, and now that Vinnie was confident Balthazar wasn’t going to kick him to the curb, he talked a lot. He talked about comic books and the plots of B movies he’d never heard of, about food and animals and family, about anything that came to mind. Balthazar listened, made the occasional dry comment, and tapped one finger along to Vinnie’s seemingly unconscious triplets. He supposed he should feel overwhelmed, or annoyed, or ignored, but he didn’t. Their dynamic was Vinnie centric and he liked it that way. Not to say he was entirely passive, of course. One Friday, he asked a very important question, though he didn’t know it at the time. 

“When did you start playing the theremin? I don’t believe I’d ever seen you in the band hall before.” In fact, he hadn’t seen him in there since, but Vinnie did seem a bit laissez-faire as far as practicing went.

“Since like the sixth grade. I can play a lot of instruments, actually. My moms have a bunch of them in the garage from when Uncle Denny was in a band. I never took it super seriously. A couple scales, some pop songs to show off to my friends. I only started really practicing a few months ago.”

“Was there some sort of catalyst?”

“I mean yea, but it’s...it’s kind of embarrassing.” he mumbled, suddenly paying very close attention to the floor.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to distress you. You don’t have to talk about it. I am curious though, what was your first?”

“What did you say?!” Vinnie asked, looking inordinately flustered. Balthazar tilted his head, perplexed.

“Your first instrument. It’s tremendously important, you know. Your entire personality is destined by it. I’m a little bit of an odd case, as a concert pianist, but all pit percussion are distant sorts. Except for the double reeds, but they don’t count.” Vinnie looked both relieved and disappointed, but he was laughing, so Balthazar felt that was progress.

“The more I hear about you band people the less I understand you.”

“Precisely how we prefer it. Now, fess up, or I will start guessing for you, and I won’t be flattering.” he teased, a smile curling his mouth a little impish.

“Alright, does the recorder count?”

“No, we’ve all been forced through that horror.”

“They do it in the UK too?”

“I moved here in the third grade.”

“And you still have that strong of an accent? Impressive.” Balthazar knew a distraction when he heard one, so he pressed on.

“You’re avoiding the question. You’re not a bass clarinet, are you? That would be disappointing.” It would explain certain habits, but he far too much energy to be a low reed, Balthazar thought. 

“I’m not sure if I want to know why. I guess of all the instruments actually in concert band, my first was the clarinet. But I’m always flat.”

“Of course, I should have known. The hair, the outfits, it all screams first part, third chair. How idiotic of me not to have guessed.”

“I think there was a compliment in there, so I’m going to focus on that.”

“If you’ve been playing since the sixth grade, you must good enough got Symphonic band, at least. I wonder why you never joined.”

“Like I said, music wasn’t really a big deal, before. I um...ok you have to promise not to judge, if I tell you.” Vinnie said, with an intensity that was almost out of character. Balthazar understood this to mean it was extremely important.

“I promise.”

“I’ve had a crush on this person in band since freshmen year. I thought we’d have a class together by now, but now I’m pretty sure they’re on a different track or something. They’re a really good musician and kind of intimidating, I couldn’t just walk up and talk to them. So I thought, if I got good at playing an instrument, we’d have something to talk about. And it kind of worked? Only now I feel bad, whenever it comes up, because this is like, their whole thing and I don’t want them to think I was, I don’t know, mocking them.” It wasn’t said in all one breath, but it was a near thing. Balthazar tried to ignore the way his chest got tight, not only because of concern, but a terrible, shameful envy.

“I doubt that would happen, Vincent. Us band people can be...intense, but anyone who knows you could never think things of such ill will. You’re much too sincere about everything.”

“Yea, you’re probably right. I just get nervous. I’m always nervous, but it’s different. They’ve become really important to me. I don’t want to lose them. I mean, they’re not _interested_ but I can deal with that.” he said, but the smile was crooked, like a drawing done while moving, not quite symmetrical. 

“Why wouldn’t they be interested in you? You’re handsome, smart, funny, though perhaps a bit pun-dependent. A very calming presence despite your energetic nature. Kind to others. Not flawless, of course, but nothing so horribly debilitating, as far as I know.”

“That’s really nice of you to say, Balthy. But that’s not really the important part, for dating. It’s all about attraction, you know, romantic stylz.” he said, and Balthazar could hear the zed out loud, somehow. Vinnie’s linguistic curiosity continued to amaze. “You’ve had a crush before, haven’t you?”

“Um, well. One.” There were passing flashes of desire with other boys, but having an actual crush, well that required knowing. Vinnie was the only one who qualified. 

“That’s kind of adorable, but not the point. What was different, about them? Like compared to your friends.”

“Friends. As in plural. Yes, I definitely have those.” he said, not convincing at all. Vinnie looked shocked and then outraged, his fingers curled until they were white around the edge of the table, then burst out to gesture emphatically. 

“What? You’re Balthazar Cavendish. People should be clamoring to get your attention. You’re a virtuoso, sweet as sugarcane, smoking hot. Jeez, our school really is full of idiots.” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. Balthazar felt the lump in his throat press a little less, after his enthusiastic defense of character.

“I think you’re giving me too much credit.”

“I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough, so we’ll call it even. Anyway, I’m your friend, right?” Balthazar blinked, what sort of question was that?

“Naturally.”

“Think about the differences between me and your crush. That’s the important part. The ‘interested’ part.” 

“I don’t think doing this will be helpful in illustrating that point, Vinnie.” he said without thinking, before he could even remember the horrible consequences, how this was a terrible idea. Vinnie had just said he had a crush on someone, and it certainly wasn’t him.

“Why not?” Vinnie asked, and maybe he saw how Balthazar’s eyes were wide, how his hands shook slightly. “Balthy, are you ok?” Vinnie reached for him, and he flinched, even though he knew he’d never hurt him over something like this.

Balthazar had never been so grateful for the angry screech of the bell. He grabbed his backpack, spluttered something about not wanting to be late, and ran away like his life depended on it. 

* * *

That afternoon, he sat at the piano, but he couldn’t find it in him to play anything. He was mortified. Vinnie had confided in him, and he’d managed to make the whole thing about himself and his own stupid, useless feelings. He needed to get himself together, apologize for his actions and do everything in his power to assist Vinnie to romantic success. At the very least, disparage the fool who rejected him. Balthazar wished he had his phone number, but it had felt presumptuous to ask, when they only had lunch together.

He had started forlornly poking one key over and over when he heard the door slide open, slowly and quietly. He didn’t bother to look up, probably Shane looking for his mallets. 

It was not, in fact, Shane. 

“Vinnie! I should...I was going to tell you at lunch tomorrow....though I understand if you don’t want to come after...” He took a breath, compose yourself Balthazar! “I’m sorry. I know I’ve made things awkward.”

“You used to practice in the main part of the band hall, on Fridays. I’d be in my practice room, waiting for an opportunity to pop out, say something, anything. But you looked so peaceful, so happy, I didn’t wanna ruin it. Then you moved into percussion equipment room, the day I was playing the harmonica. I realized after that it was probably messing you up, and I didn’t play it any more, but it was too late. I wanted to apologize, but I was selfish, I didn’t want you being mad to be our first interaction. And I didn’t have any reason to be in the percussion equipment room with a clarinet. But if I needed a theremin cord, maybe that would work. You were really nice, even though I’d interrupted. I didn’t bring up my moms on purpose but good sign, not homophobic, yay! Anyway the point of all this is I’ve been crushing on you forever and I think maybe you like me back but even if you don’t I hope we can still be buds, if that’s chill?”

“ _You’re_ the Interloper?!” he said, instead of all the things he should be saying, like agreeing.

“That’s a new title. Kind of ominous? But I think so. If I’d known it would work out I would’ve just talked to you. And I am sorry about the harmonica.”

“You’ve had a crush on me for two years?”

“Yea, it started when -“ he stopped suddenly. “Look you can me all the embarrassing questions you want, but I have to know. Am I answering as your friend or your boyfriend? Or should I leave?”

“No! I mean. I was going to practice Elgar, today.”

“I do not know who that is.”

“He was an English classical composer. Very famous, impressive mustache. The point is, there’s this piece. Salut d'Amour, originally for violin and piano. Only,” Balthazar fumbles through his sheet music, pulling out a page near the back. “There’s a theremin score. I found it online. I wonder, i-if you’d like to play it with me.” For a horrible moment there was silence. Then, laughter.

“Balthazar, you really know how to one up a guy, huh?” he said, half bent over, pushing up his sunglasses to wipe away the tears. He had one brown eye and one blue, and it flustered him, because he hadn’t thought Vinnie could be more lovely. “I’d love to.”

The next Friday, there were two students in the main band hall, and not an interloper to be found.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, thank you to tetsa for encouraging me in these dark times.


End file.
